THE RECRUITING SERJEANT.
YOU sons of Mars, I pray draw near,
and listen to a volunteer,
And so become a brother dear,
I mean a valiant soldier.
The farmers’ sons you see they do
leave their spade, and weary plow,
And along with us they are to go,
to fight the french culotes.
No more in frizes to be seen,
but in the scarlet red or lovely green
With broad steel swords, thats sharp and keen,
with drums and fyfes before you.
These youths like heroes void of fear,
they are not troubled with wordly care,
but fight for Britains glory.
You pretty maids thats lost your lads,
I must confess your case is bad,
But they will safe return again,
when the french wars are over.
For the scottish lads have hearts of steel,
unto their enemies will never yield;
Like lions bold they take the field,
and fight for Britains glory.
Heres a health to George our King,
supply him with true hearted men,
And grant that victory he may gain,
o’er his insulting en’mies.
